


Old God for the New World

by agarwoods



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 13:11:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16175762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agarwoods/pseuds/agarwoods
Summary: He held you close because everything was familiar and unfamiliar to him; because familiarity breeds fear, and because he had been down this road before.





	Old God for the New World

**Author's Note:**

> I’m actually not sure how I feel about this. I knew I wanted to write angst for Steve but this came out differently than how I initially imagined it to be. Considering doing a remix/continuation but that’s probably very wishy-washy of me considering my track record lol. Nevertheless, I hope this is enjoyable! Feedback is appreciated. 
> 
> [♪ Hard Feelings — Lorde](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d6nYF3juDQY)

It hadn’t been the ideal way Steve wanted to start a relationship — or the beginnings of one, at least. Hell, he hadn’t even wanted a relationship in the first place. He would never have the time for it; the patience; the experience; the courage; the will.

In all honestly, he didn’t feel like America’s Golden Boy, standing in between your legs in the women’s bathroom at a high-profile club in Paris, of all places. 

It had started out innocently enough, as innocently enough as any of Tony’s parties could anyway. There had been the nagging insecurity inside of his head that he was out of place, that _he_ was misplaced. He was still the lanky boy from Brooklyn who stood on the outside of society. He never fit in then—seventy years later and he still stuck out like a sore thumb. Perhaps not in the same way he once did in the past, but, the feeling of isolation never really does feel any different regardless of circumstances. 

Perhaps this mistake—this impulsive rendezvous in the bathroom—was a blessing in itself.

He’d always been an upright man and gave credit where it was due, and… it should have said something when you were the first to make him feel in a time where he never thought he would want to feel again.

It should have.

—

You landed on the barstool beside him with a twirl, laughing in delight as you watched the entertainers on stage. Rhodey stood amongst them trying to show of his skills (or lack thereof) and it seemed to amuse you endlessly.

The bartender leaned in towards you from over the counter, whispered something into your ear that made you laugh even harder. You spun around immediately, put your arm on the table, and rested your flushed cheek in your hand as your eyes twinkled.

“ _Noah, my dear, one of these days, you shall have the courage to ask for phone numbers yourself,_ ” you said, then slipped him a piece of paper.

He stared at it for a while, then peered up at you through his lashes, and grinned just as slyly as you had. “Who needs courage when I have you, the most fearless person on earth?”

“I don’t think you can say that when I am sitting beside Captain America,” you whispered back, and shot Steve a side glance with a wink. 

He hadn’t been prepared to suddenly be brought up in conversation within earshot, but it made the bartender finally turn to him.

“Well then, what kind of drink does the most fearless person on earth like?”

You threw your head back in laughter, and Steve tried hard not to think that you were laughing at _him_.

“Whiskey,” he answered. 

Noah nodded and turned around to grab the appropriate drinks, but not before you ushered him your way to ask for some bar snacks. 

“You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself very much,” you suddenly said, as you turned around to rest your back against the bar. This let you watch the crowd again.

“Is it that obvious?” he asked, a bit wryly. It really wasn’t his thing. He’d always been on the outside looking in. Holding a conversation was probably even less of his thing. 

“Take a look around you,” you said, gesturing to the party with a hand. “How many eyes linger on you? How many of these people want just to have a chance to come up to _the_ Captain America and have a conversation with him? Any of them would kill to have you look their way, and yet, here you are, hiding in the corner of the party, drinking a whiskey all by yourself.”

He took a look around, finally noticing the eyes that lingered on him, ones that he hadn’t noticed before. It made him feel shy, and he looked away immediately. He didn’t want them to take it as a sign to approach. 

Unfortunately for him, you noticed, and it made you laugh harder. This time, he _definitely_ knew that you were laughing at him.

He held his drink to his lips, and took a small sip. “Between you and I,” he started, “How many of them would forget about me the next day? How much attention could I give them to make them remember me for the rest of their lives?”

You weren’t sure how to answer him. When you stayed silent for far too long, he smiled a bit behind his glass. He wasn’t really much of a conversationalist, and perhaps he had disappointed you with his response. 

He considered getting up and stepping away from the bar when you finally spoke again. 

“Take a look around you,” you said. “Look at how many people are here. See the old school tables and the teacher standing in front of the class. Her hand writes your schedule on the chalkboard but your classmates are all fidgeting behind her back. The boy in front of you teases the girl on the other side of the class, while the one beside you has his back turned to the teacher as he talks excitedly to his friend behind him about the baseball game that happened over the weekend. Your best friend sits a few rows away from you, where you sit by the window because the breeze is better there, but when the ball of rolled paper hits you smack dab on the forehead, it catches you off guard and makes you gasp aloud. It makes everyone turn and stare at you, even the teacher, and you feel nervous, but you laugh it off and apologize for the interruption. You don’t remember what that note said, or even what half of your classmates name was; you don’t even remember your teacher’s name, but you remember that moment. It has stayed with you ever since.”

He remembered. 

It might not be the same, but Steve remembered a scene similar to his past. He hadn’t sat by the window during his primary school; it made him sick. He often sat in the front of the class, closer to the teacher and chalkboard because his eyesight was bad. He remembered the kids behind him all having fun during breaks and even during lessons, and even back then, Steve had been somewhat of an outsider.

But he had Bucky. He had Bucky, and he remembered every moment that they shared together. They hadn’t been in the same grade, but Bucky was always there. He couldn’t remember the first time they met — it seemed like they knew each other their entire lives — but he remembered everything else about them, even the insignificant things. Like the time they pitched in their allowance for over a month to sneak into a movie theatre together. It had been the first movie he’d seen and it was scary and blasphemous but it was exciting and fun all the same. 

Or the time he had been protecting a little stray cat from low-life bullies in the back alley of a street in Brooklyn when Bucky came and kicked all of their asses. It wasn’t graceful, and they certainly didn’t have much experience fighting at the time. But it was the right thing to do, and even though they both got scolded for getting into a street fight, both boys had grinned at each other as if they had accomplished something great.

He turned to look at you, and saw the smug grin on your lips, as if you knew but didn’t know. 

“What if I told you that the only attention I want right now, is from a girl sitting right in front of me?”

You choked on your drink. It pleased him to know that this time, he was the one making you speechless. 

You flashed him a helpless smile, and he had the feeling that the flush on your cheeks wasn’t solely due to the drink. 

—

It wasn’t something he was used to. It was only his third kiss since waking up, a handful in his entire life. But here he was, stumbling into the bathroom, locking lips with a girl he barely knew. 

Your lips tasted like the cherry vodka you had earlier, and your laugh was endless in his ears. You smelt more like clean laundry instead of some sort of perfume he couldn’t even pronounce. Your skin was soft and you clung onto him like you never wanted to let him go and it was real, _this_ was real, _you_ were real—

“Monsieur,” you muttered, slipping into French when he set you down onto the counter. Your hand toyed with the buttons on the front of his shirt, eyes misty and mind hazy. “Perhaps… if I hadn’t known any better, a girl would misbelieve that… this is how all old men kiss…”

“You sound like you know from experience.” His lips moved to your jaw, your neck. It made your knees go weaker and sent your mind into a frenzy. 

Almost a minute later, his statement finally registered into your mind and you brought a hand to lay flat against his chest. “Did I really just say that?”

You looked so confused and wonderful and adorable and—he laughed, and wrapped his arm around your waist to bring you closer to him. You fit so snugly against him, as if you were meant to be held by him, meant to be kissed by him, meant to be _lo_ —

Suddenly the door slammed open. An angry looking woman charged forward, shouting in French at the incredulity of it all. She was almost hysterical and Steve was somewhat surprised that a crowd hadn’t formed at her shouting.

“This is where you’ve been! How much have you drunk? What is wrong with you! I look away for not even ten minutes and you disappear out of my sight!” She turned away from you to glare at him with an equally, if not more, furious gaze in her eyes. “And you! Shame on you for taking advantage of a drunken girl!”

She pushed her way in between the both of you, managing to even make _him_ stumble back while she pulled you off the counter. You threw your arms around the other woman to steady yourself, forgetting about Steve in the background. 

“ _Maman_ ,” you whined, “I only drank a little bit.”

“You dumb hussy,” she scolded. “Noah was manning the bar tonight. You know how he likes to test your limits! And! How could you go make out with a stranger in the bathroom!”

“But maman,” you whined again, “He’s really cute.”

Your friend scoffed. “Doesn’t matter if he’s cute or not when he takes advantage of drunken girls in bathrooms!” 

She pulled you along with her, as your heels slid against the marble floor. You were at the door now, and even though you were protesting against her accusations, you still clung onto her with much affection. 

“ _Julia, I hardly think I was taken advantage of._ ”

He stared, unable to do a thing. You left the bathroom completely now, and you hadn’t even looked back once. 

You’d forgotten all about him, just like that.

It was disappointing, but, what bothered him most was that, he realized as an afterthought, he didn’t even know your name. 

—

His eyes grew wide when he saw you standing beside the American Ambassador in Paris. You wore a professional-looking suit and did your job diligently, listening to what your superior had to say with the utmost respect and concentration. You provided documents when they needed to be proven, and never let your gaze stray too far from the task at hand. Not even at him.

The entire time, he tried very hard to catch your eye. Maybe if he stared long enough, you would notice him. He knew that he was trying too hard. His gaze landed on you too long and too often, and he knew that virtually everyone else in the room had noticed except for you. Then, perhaps by chance, or perhaps you had finally taken notice of his leering of you, you finally glanced his way.

He went rigid.

There was no smile, no knowing glance. It was as if you had completely forgotten who he was and he didn’t think it was too far off to say that you looked at him as if he were an idiot. Or worse, a creep.

On the opposite side of him, there was a not-so-subtle snort courtesy of Tony.

Steve swallowed hard.

Of course a sweet, charming woman like yourself wouldn’t notice him. 

Despite this, after the meeting was finished, after everything was said and done, Steve lingered back a little longer. He knew it was ridiculous, but he also knew he was stubborn, and he couldn’t not let this chance go. Not when the absence of your name had plagued his mind for all of the days in between your kiss and now. Not when his heart, like a young school boy infatuated, had skipped a beat upon seeing you again.

You were surprised when you exited the meeting room. The ambassador matched your expression, but didn’t pry. He nodded his head at Steve and said something to you that made you nod, but otherwise went ahead of you.

You took a step towards him. Your eyes were full of curiosity and you watched him like a cat stalking its prey; Steve tried very hard not to pay attention to the sweat on his palms.

He looked down, suddenly feeling very shy, but couldn’t resist a glance at you through his lashes. The windows were tinted, but, he still felt as if there was a glow about you in the empty hallway where only you and he stood. 

“So,” he started, scuffing the tips of his shoes against the floor, all too aware of the silence in the air, “I don’t suppose you remember, but just in case you haven’t, it’s Steve Rogers.”

You blinked. 

The realization hit you slowly, and you laughed. 

You finally told him his name, and in his mind, he repeated it, just to test out how it would have sounded. It sounded beautiful, to him.

This time, you looked away, gazing through the windows behind him.

“I had known who you were when we met,” you admitted. “But I didn’t expect that we would meet again. It’s nice to officially meet you, Steve Rogers.”

He was stunned, but perhaps, it was mostly due to the inviting smile you wore on your face. His lips fell into a helpless smile, and for a moment, he took notice of the silence in the air again. This time, it made him hyperaware of the gentle sounds of hearts pitter-pattering in the air that accompanied the peace.

—

It was only a week that he stayed in Paris, but, he knew quickly that it was a beautiful city. Busy, but beautiful.

On the days that you had available, you kept him company, showing him to all of the monumental places in the city — and then your favourites in between. All the while, you spoke with fascination in your eyes, an endless love and wonder. The city was beautiful, but it came to life with your presence. The stories that you wove with your tongue turned into magic spells, and the nightly walks he took with you brought charm even in the slums.

He was a sucker, through and through.

He fell fast and hard, a feat that hadn’t existed since… forever. 

But on your second day together, you sighed sadly as you overlooked the seine. 

“I’m going to miss this city terribly, when I go.”

He looked at you with a start. In the back of his mind, he worried that this would be the last time that he would get to see you. Shame, because he had really enjoyed your company. 

Shame, because he hoped to one day find his way back to Paris again.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

You stretched your arms out before you over the rails, and this time, the smile on your face was one of nostalgia. “Home.”

Home, you revealed, was New York.

His stunned expression was obvious even to him. All of the pieces were falling into place without him even trying, and he didn’t know how to respond. You looked sad, but, you also looked happy. He didn’t know whether to share in your melancholy or to cheer you on.

You caught his gaze, saw the way he licked his lips to suppress the smile, and it made you roll your eyes. 

You nudged his shoulder in a teasing manner, and said, “At least we’ll always have New York.”

Paris: where it started.

New York: where it would take off.

He smiled foolishly, excited for the prospect of the future to come.

A month later, he would receive you at JFK. He would give you flowers and a hug, and take you on an official date where he felt less like an outsider. He would learn what it was like to feel again, and you would take a chance on a boy misplaced. And maybe, just maybe, it would grow into something more.

Steve would learn all too quickly that New York was where everything started to end.

—

“Steve,” you whispered, your breath ghosting against his skin, sending goosebumps upon his flesh. 

His demons had come out to play in his dreams again. You learnt very quickly that Steve had a lot of them. You named the one that resented his alignment in time as Anger. The one that missed his family and friends was called Grief. The one that longed for a sense of normalcy was called Envy. But the most prevalent amongst them all was the one that was called Hate — and it existed to taunt him about everything he failed.

Especially the lives he had failed.

He had so many unwanted friends in the world, but his worst enemies lived inside of him. 

The moon cast shadows through half-drawn curtains, and you saw only his silhouette against the light. Even in the stillness of the night, you felt his heavy breathing and his stuttering heartbeat.

“Steve,” you whispered again. Your cheek pressed into his back and you closed your tired eyes. “Have you ever thought…” Your arm snaked around his waist, towards his stomach and crawled further up his chest, waiting to feel that pulse beneath skin and flesh—“That maybe, we were never meant to be heroes, after all?”

He stayed silent.

You exhaled softly, nails digging into his skin, causing him to hiss in response. He felt you smile against his back, and his hand found its way towards yours.

It was a warning, but, you’d never been good at listening to threats.

“No one is born to be anything,” you said. “We only become.”

Become great. Become evil. Become kind. Become greedy. Become lost. Become found.

He hadn’t been born as Captain America.

He flipped you over, eyes dark blue in the night and flickering with a challenge. “And what of rebirth?” 

Once upon a time, he’d been found when he was supposed to be dead. The person who came out of that casket was Captain America.

You stared up at him. His gaze was dark and ferocious and held a darkness that you hadn’t previously known but was slowly coming to recognize. 

This one was called Insecurity. 

He didn’t believe he had a life outside of the suit and shield. Steve Rogers had died 70 years ago and Captain America had been reborn.

You shook your head.

“It wasn’t a hero who came out of that ice. It was a fool reborn, maybe, but,” you leaned up, ever so slightly, so that your kisses breathed against his lips, “not Captain America.”

“How can you be so certain?” he whispered, his words harsh against your lips. 

You threw your head back in laughter.

“No one is born as anything,” you repeated. “But, Steve Rogers and the Captain share one thing in common and that is… both… are… human. _Still_ human.”

He wasn’t a hero. He wasn’t a god. He wasn’t a soldier. He wasn’t a failure.

He was only human, through and through. He was bound to make mistakes. He was bound to feel emotions; both the good and the bad. He wasn’t invincible and even if everyone expected that of him, you didn’t.

“ _Show me._ ”

His response was desperate and pleading. His lips crashed against yours and his hands found your legs, winding them around his waist, pushing hard against your body. His hands pulled and tugged at your clothing, and he was desperate as his teeth knocked harshly against yours and his tongue found yours. 

He was desperate, desperate to know what it was like to shed layers and layers of bravado. Of courage. Of envy. Of insecurity. Of fear. 

Of Captain America, legacy.

He was desperate to know what it was like to be vulnerable and broken, and whole and human, all the same. 

—

Brooklyn from his memories and the present wasn’t as different as most people assumed. Sure, the signs above the stores may have changed, and the interior might be more modern, but the street names were still the same. The roads still had the same twists and turns and they all met and ended at the same places. 

In theory, Steve knew that he was home. He was home, and this was Brooklyn, and he was home, and this was where everything, once upon a time, started.

He knew this place from the back of his mind. The steps that he took were familiar and yet at the same time, they have become unfamiliar. The lines had blurred, over time, intersecting and interchanging between past and present. But the biggest difference between then and now was the people. 

Back then, there had been his parents and Bucky, and the Barnes and bullies. There was Connie and Dot, and all the wonderful girls whose name he knew but he never really knew. There was Dr. Erskine and Howard and Colonel Phillips.

Now there was Fury and Tony; Natasha and Maria. There was Dr. Banner and Thor, and Phil.

None of the people from the present could compare to the past, but neither could the people of the present compare to the past.

Perhaps, one more thing that was different between then and now was the ambience that surrounded him.

It was quiet, so, so quiet that the only sound that he could hear was of the soft, even breathing beside him. You slept so peacefully in his arms. You were never a difficult sleeper; you always slept on time and woke up feeling refreshed regardless of what time it was. You fell asleep wherever your body was comfortable, but whenever you slept with him, you would rest your head on his chest and curl your hand above his heart, as if to feel the beating of his heart even in your dreams.

And his heart, currently, was beating contentedly. It was at peace, a feeling that he rarely ever felt except for these rare moments in time when it was just you and him.

He held you closer because it was suffocating and relieving all the same. It kept him grounded but at the same time kept him adrift from reality. 

He held you close because everything was familiar and unfamiliar to him; because familiarity breeds fear, and because he had been down this road before.

—

It was like all of his past — no matter how brief or how insignificant or how little — relationships had expended tenfold.

He never felt like this before, even if it was so achingly familiar.

Your relationship with him was easy and wonderful, full of love and adoration. He never felt like he was misplaced when he was with you. He never felt like he was undeserving of your affections. He had always felt like a broken man even before the time lapse, but he felt even more scattered after he had been resurrected.

You made him feel whole.

Like, perhaps, there had been a blessing in his reawakening. Even though everything he knew had changed, perhaps, he had lived and survived past it all for one reason only — and that was to meet you.

He was sure that everyone felt it too with the way you assimilated everyone in the room with your presence. It was in your charm; your laugh; your eyes; your wit. You attracted everyone without even trying. It came naturally to you, and sometimes, he couldn’t believe that you were his.

Your relationship with him was no exception, either. It was so normal how the two of you operated. Your conversations often lasted hours without any meaningful words exchanged, but it was never unpleasant. When you ran out of words to say, the silence was more of comfort than it was of discomfort. Meals were almost always shared, though the concept of eating around a TV had been strange to him at first, but he always looked forward to coming home to having a meal with you. If you were coming home late, you would send him a text to let him know there was food. Alternatively, if he was the one returning late, then he would tell you to eat first.

And unless he was away on missions, he always came home to you. 

It was normal.

And Steve wasn’t.

There was no 9-5 for him. He wasn’t always able to come home every night, or on time as a matter of fact. He ate more for an army than a single person, and your grocery bills were always enormous. 

He wasn’t going to be able to grow old with you, even if he wanted to.

—

It fizzled out, just like that.

Maybe everyone had already noticed it, but felt too awkward to say anything. The distance between the both of you was growing more and more every day, and you didn’t understand why.

Your jokes didn’t make him laugh anymore. His smiles were tight and forced, barely meeting his eyes; even less so, concealing the unfounded emotions behind them. You thought you had known and met all of his demons, but this one? It was foreign to you.

His unfamiliar, strange actions, and recently acquired reticent nature scared you — though you’d always known that he needed his time and space, but this? This was different. This wasn’t time and space; this was worlds and universes away.

Your conversations fell short. There were millions of words across multiple languages but they all fell short between the two of you.

He was shutting you out, and you couldn’t understand why.

“ _I love him_ ,” you sobbed, one night. “I don’t know what I did to make him become like this. Wanda, you can read minds, can’t you? Tell me, what does Steve think of all of this?”

It was unethical.

You knew the rules upon Wanda joining the group. It was that she was never to use her powers on anyone within the group without permission. But still! You were desperate and in love and you were scared—

“And so what if you knew?” she asked, not in the way that it was meant to mock you, but in the way that was sympathetic, as if she knew what it was like to peek into another’s mind and regret knowing too much. “What if you knew what he was thinking? Do you think that you could change anything?”

You sobered up at her words.

You really didn’t have the confidence to make him stay.

—

“I don’t see a future for us together.”

Your mind whirled.

Could it be that he didn’t see a future because he didn’t see himself living for very long, when he was constantly fighting a battle that he didn’t create? Because you were a target for anyone who might have known about your relationship and thought it might be time to use you as a bargaining chip? Because some time paradox was going to take him away from you?

Or because he didn’t love you anymore?

You were afraid to ask.

“Don’t you see?” he continued, his voice lower now, and part of you hoped that it was because he was also feeling the fear — that if he spoke too loudly, it might actually be real. “You and I, it was all a mistake from the beginning, and… no one stays in love forever.”

You refused to believe that these were his words. They were cruel and they must have been rehearsed to cut and hurt and break you. 

He was not that cruel.

But why did it hurt, all the same?

“I _don’t_ see,” you said. “No one stays in love forever, but, I never asked for forever with you.”

You didn’t need an eternity with him. You only wanted a lifetime.

He looked away, as if some words didn’t need to be said, yet were still understood between the lines.

A glimmer of hope lit inside of you, and you hoped that he truly wasn’t as cruel as he was pretending to be.

“ _Steve_ ,” you rasped, and it made him close his eyes because he wished that you wouldn’t say his name like _that_. “If you knew… If you knew that it was a mistake, and that you and I should have never—“

“Don’t—“

He stopped you because he was afraid. He was afraid just as much as you were; of _this_ , of where it could go, what it could be, what it meant.

You understood immediately.

He was the bravest man on earth, but he was still haunted forevermore by the ghosts of his past, and of the unknowing future.

“ _Steve_ ,” you said again, this time, stepping closer towards him—“If you knew that it was a mistake, then why did you take a chance?”

Why did he let you believe? Why did he let himself believe?

“If this is about Bucky—“

“It’s not.”

Your mind went into a frenzy, unable to fathom what he was thinking. You tried to reason that his recent distance was because of Bucky, because the ghost of his past had come back alive. Perhaps it was spurred on all of the memories of tragedies in his past and brought alight the fear that he always kept hidden inside of him. 

Truthfully, you didn’t care what the reason was. 

“We happened,” you said, desperate and pleading just to make him understand. It wasn’t a mistake. He could deny if all he wanted to, but there was no erasing all of the days and nights you shared together. There was no erasing all the demons and monsters you fought alongside him; the disagreements with Tony; the brand of dangerous that recently followed him. There was no erasing all of the love and happiness that you shared, once upon a time — could still share, if he would let you.

Your lips crashed against his. “ _We happened!_ ”

It was hard and messy and desperate and he held you as if it was the only thing left keeping him grounded to the world. Which, once upon a time, could have been true. Might still be true.

His grasp on your arms were equally as wanting; you could feel it in his kiss, in his touch. He didn’t want this to end either, so why…?

Your shoulders shook and then you pulled away with a gasp, the only sob that left your lips. You stared at him, and refused to look away. He took a step back on instinct and the fear became pronounced in his eyes but you weren’t a quitter, and you weren’t ready to give up on him now. 

You took a step towards him, and another, until he was backed against the countertop of your kitchen. He had no escape.

Still, he refused to meet you halfway. If he just took one step forward, then maybe, maybe you could close the distance between the both of you once and for all. 

Even if he couldn’t, even if the fear was so much that it immobilized him, you were still willing to take the 99 steps out of a hundred. As long as he was willing.

Your hand reached out to his cheek. It was so close, so close to his skin that he could feel the heat from your flesh. If you made contact, then maybe, perhaps, he would lean into your touch to feel your tender affection once again. It would remind him that it was real; that you were real, and that, _oh, God, this wasn’t happening_ —

“I just can’t.”

He looked away. 

Your hand stopped midair. The silence in the room was suffocating now, like a flatline on a heart monitor. 

He’d done it, he realized, and when he forced his eyes to meet yours and saw the way you looked at him with those eyes he loved— _loves_ , _loves_ ; **he _loves_ you** — he realized that _this_ was a mistake. He was foolish and afraid and his once upon a time could have ended with a happily ever after if he had just let it.

You took a step back. 

This time, you couldn’t make friends with the demon named Fear. You walked away because there was no future with Steve Rogers. Not if he could help it.

“ _Goodbye, Steve._ “

It was the first real goodbye he ever had, and it stung even more to know that he made it happen.


End file.
